


Pretty Little Fears

by Achrya



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, But the road to hell and all that, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gaslighting, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Shiro Has Good Intentions, Sith Empire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya
Summary: Sith Lord Argenti, formerly Jedi Knight Takashi Shirogane, has two apprentices. Keith, a half-galra Shiro both destroyed and saved, who is full of sharp anger and hopeless devotion, and proud to be Shiro's fiercest weapon and Lance, a former slave and accomplished imperial agent made cold and wary by the world, and desperate for power and validation.He'll need both, and everything they have to give, if he's to depose Emperor Zarkon and rebuild the Sith Empire, but as they begin shaping the future he finds some variables he didn't think to account for. Mostly in the form of what his apprentices want from him, in exchange for 'Everything'.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 37





	1. Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mentions of muder, fantasies of violence, and implied non-con and sexual slavery. 
> 
> Star Wars the Old Republic AU. I was going to have them as Jedi but, well, anyone who has played SWtOR knows why I went Sith instead. But Shiro is totally a well meaning Sith, who wants to fix the Galaxy! ...with scheming and murder. And sex, eventually. 
> 
> Speaking of sex, be prepared for alien sex bits eventually. Whenever we get there.

Keith watched, unblinking, as his master opened the door to their room and ushered in a Twi’lek officer. He looked young, perhaps Keith’s age or a little younger, skin a deep cobalt blue, with ultramarine circling his lekku in spiraling bands and dusting his face almost like freckles would; his eyes were a lighter blue, big and bright as he looked around the room under Shiro’s warm, patient smile. He was tall and thin; in his slightly overly large gray Imperial uniform, with a blaster rifle strapped to his back and a vibroknife sheathed on his thigh and nary a ripple of power about him, he looked very breakable. 

Then again all the soldiers Keith had met over the years, cowering away from him and simpering at his master’s feet, looked breakable to him.They were all the same to him, little meaningless blips of light in the force, undeserving of their proximity to his master, little toys who hid behind weapons and rules, plotted and schemed in hopes of gaining the favor of their betters. He would have liked to dismiss this agent as the cut from the same cloth but it was very apparent as soon as he walked into the room that wasn’t the case. 

The Imperial was a void in the Force. No power radiated out, which was common in those who weren’t force sensitive, but neither did the Force seem to touch him. Keith perceived all things the Force touched, could see the way it weaved in and out of all things if he closed his eyes and opened himself up to it, but this Twi’lek was...nothing. The force bent around him, avoided him completely. If Keith hadn’t been staring at him he wouldn’t have known he was anything but empty air. 

He could do something similar, cloak himself in the force to squash his presence and make the eyes of others skip over him as if he weren’t there at all, but it had taken years, and no small amount of spilled blood and injury, to learn that technique. There was no way some Imperial who’d never set foot in the Academy should be able to do it, and so completely. Even stealth tech was inferior to the Force, couldn’t cloak so completely to his knowledge.

Keith ground his teeth together, fingers twitching towards his ‘saber. It was only a reproachful look from his master that made him think better of taking up his weapon in favor of crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes. 

“Lance, take a seat please. We have a lot to talk about.” His master said, gesturing to the low couch directly across from the mat Keith was kneeling on. “Would you like a drink, or something to eat. I understand the food here is some of the best you can get on planet.” 

Keith bit his tongue to keep from asking why his master was being so ‘friendly’. That was very much how the man was, unlike most of the Sith Lords Keith had encountered, but Keith has never understood why he bothered. He didn’t understand why his master bothered with making inroads in the military, courting allies and gaining followers, as all when they could so easily do whatever they wanted or needed or their own. 

Lord Argenti was acknowledged by all as a Master Sith, both in battle and out. He’d brought down Jedi, Republic troops, and planetary resistance fighters time and again, all on his own, in the name of the Sith Empire. He had the favor of Emperor Zarkon and Darth Haggar, as much as anyone ever did. He’d taken Keith, young and alone and unwanted, and molded him into a brutal weapon many were envious of. 

To Keith that seemed like more than enough to grasp anything his master may have desired and yet here they were, in some tiny hole in the wall cantina on the edge of the jungles of Dromund Kaas instead of in their apartments higher in the sprawling city. Not that Keith had any issues with the location, the blistering deserts of Korriban had been worse and he’d been out there for weeks at a time, months even, in the name of his training. But the place, and the people drinking themselves to dullness and vulnerability, all felt...strange to him, in the Force. Slick, like an oil puddle, intentions sliding between the grasp of his awareness.

It made him uneasy. He was sure he could best anyone he tried to attack them with little trouble but the not knowing sat as an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. His tail had, in spite of his best efforts, unfurled itself from around his waist and was even now lashing back and forth in a display of his irritation. The short purple fur that covered it was puffed up, another giveaway; it would be embarrassing in the company of another Galra and even now, with just his master and some strange officer, it was shameful. He tried to settle, to turn his emotions inward and wrench the strength that shame and discomfort could bring, but instead it all stayed a static slickness on his skin. 

Mind tricks weren’t Keith’s strongest area, there was no need when Lord Argenti was so skilled, but it was rare that so many with no grasp of the Force were beyond his ability to read. He’d been more than eager to leave the main floor to come to a private room but he’d scarcely been able to sweep the place for listening devices and traps before his master had welcomed the soldier into their room.

It was worse with this grinning Twi’lek in front of him, giving away absolutely nothing in the Force. 

“You didn’t have any issues leaving your post on Balmorra?” Lord Argenti asked once he’d settled onto the couch next to the agent, a mug of the medicinal smelling tea he favored steaming in his hand. The Agent-Lance- shook his head. 

“No, my inclusion in the order from Darth Sendak wasn't questioned. As long as no one looks at them too deeply at why some lowly lieutenant Sendak has never encountered was included with a bunch of foot soldiers it won’t be a problem.” The Twi’lek’s brow furrowed slightly, eyes darting to the side. “I didn’t expect to be called on.” 

Lord Argenti smiled again, small and almost apologetic. “The news of my spy network being infiltrated was concerning. I will have to close certain avenues soon but you’re too important to me to risk in the meantime.” 

The Twi’lek flushed violet. Keith sat up straighter, a hiss slipping past his clenched teeth. This agent, some dozen a credit lieutenant (though, Keith could admit, he looked young for a lieutenant. He must have risen in the ranks fast but, then, such a thing wasn’t impossible for a Twi’lek if they had the charm and found the right sponsor. Keith’s stomach turned sour at the prospect of his master being that sponsor.) who Keith had never heard a word about in his decade at Lord Agenti’s side, was important? Important to his master, who had no attachments to anyone aside from Keith, and even that was the attachment of a man to a favored saber or blaster? 

Keith had never been told he was too important to lose. 

His master’s eyes, gold rimmed mercury, fixed on him. The Twi’lek looked too, blinking rapidly and looking faintly surprised, as if he’d already forgotten Keith was there, watching. Keith’s tail whipped back and forth behind him and, he noticed dismissively, his claws were digging furrows into his mat. Another one for the rag pile. 

“Master,” He hissed, all too aware that his tone was unacceptable. “Who is this?”

Lord Argenti’s eyes softened. His lips curved into a knowing smile, achingly kind in the way he always was when he thought Keith was being foolish in a way that wasn’t even worth proper reprimand. It was the way he smiled at the children on Balmorra who hadn’t yet been broken by the harshness of the Academy. Keith’s face warmed and his stomach twisted. 

“Lieutenant Lance, this is my first apprentice, Keith Lia.” 

First apprentice? Keith tried to breathe through the tightness in his throat, to draw inwards the panic and confusion leaking out of him. The windows were rattling. “Master.” 

“Keith, this is Lance, my second apprentice.” Something shattered. Keith was on his feet, ‘saber in hand and activated, purple blades slicing out through the darkness. (Darkness? When had it gotten so dark?) The Twi’lek flinched but Lord Argenti didn’t acknowledge it, the full force of his focus on Keith, peeling away the layers of his shields like a torturer stripping skin. Except that would have been preferable to having his Master’s presence, huge and burning as it was, rolling into his mind without warning. 

He pushed and Lord Argenti pushed back, flattened him under the sheer weight of power. Keith bared his teeth- a second apprentice? His master has *him*, what need did he have of another, what could this Twi’lek void offer that he couldn’t, why-

“Enough, Keith.” 

Keith stumbled, cringing as the words echoed in his skull. His master waved a hand lazily and Keith’s weapon powered down, plunging them into true darkness. 

“Lance will be traveling with us from now on. He’ll maintain his cover as an agent, and I expect you to keep that secret. It’s...advantageous to me, to have him be able to go places we cannot and talk to people who would be less than honest with a Sith.” Lord Argenti’s voice was no less warm than it always was, the same voice that had coaxed Keith from the bloody wreckage of his parents home after the republic had slaughtered him, the same voice that took him through his forms, lulled him into meditation, that haunted his most private moments. Keith wanted to scream, to rage, to sink his teeth into the man that dared to take his space at his master’s side and tear out his insides then present them to Argenti, proof that only he was fit. 

He did none of those things. Instead he stepped back, snarling into the shadows. “If you wanted a Twi’lek to kriff you could have just bought one.” 

He didn’t need light to see, Galra were made for the darkness and he adjusted to being able to see it as no more than a bit of dimness quickly. It let him see the Twi’lek’s eyes narrow just as he felt, finally, something from him in the Force. Rage, hot and huge, and a thread of shame wrapped up in a deep yawning loathing. There was also strength there, a lot of it, bright and wild, barely shaped and directed. It was there and gone between one blink and the next; Lance looked to the side, mouth pressing into a scowl. 

Not a void after all.

“Go to your room, apprentice.” Lord Argenti said, face creasing into exhaustion and disappointment. Keith opened his mouth, wanting to argue, but all at once his Master withdrew from their bond completely, threw up walls of ice and Keith was...alone. He choked on it, when was the last time Argenti had locked him out? Years and years, as a punishment he’d never wanted to duplicate (And not at all because he’d been dropped into the desert with nothing but a small blade and told to find his way back to the temple without even his master’s presence as a guide), then whirled on his heels and stomped away. 

How could Shiro shut him out like that, for some...some outsider?

Was he really being thrown away, after all this time?

\---

Once upon a time, when his name had been Takashi Shirogane, before he’d become Lord Argenti, Champion of the Sith, Shiro had found a half-Galra boy. The boy was the child of a defector from the Empire, a Galra woman who’d fled because of love and a desire to raise her force sensitive child away from the Sith. She and her lover had been found and cut down and the child left behind in the ruins of his former life, viewed as a runt already corrupted by his mother’s actions. Shiro, twenty-three and recently placed with Lord Sendak, had been part of the death squad. His first mission of many to that effect, part of what he would build his reputation for unflinching loyalty and ruthlessness. 

He’d walked away, per his orders, and suffered from mind searing headaches and nightmares for six standard months before he’d gone back and collected the boy. He hadn’t been old enough for an apprentice, let alone a snarling pre-teen whose mind had regressed to that of a beast in the wake of trauma. The boy had bitten and clawed, thrown the force out in lethal waves that had literally torn some unfortunate soldiers apart. Shiro, dripping with the gore of his men and protected only by his own command of the Force, had known he had to have the boy. 

Sendak had been very clear that it wasn’t worth the effort and that Shiro was to kill the boy so he could reclaim his mind. 

Shiro had taken him back to Korriban instead. 

Keith was prowling his room, looking every inch the apex predator that Galra had once been. His sleek, pointed ears were folded back against his skull, pale skin flushed pink and making the bloodline markings on his face stand out that much more, long dark hair free from it’s braid and starting to tangle from anxious hands raking and pulling at it. His tail, considered an odd quirk of not quite bred out evolution in the same way some Galra had scales and gills, was stiff and puffed up. Blood dripped from his palms, pierced by his claws in his rage and his teeth, sharp and strong enough to crack bones, gnashed. 

And what a rage it was; it rolled around the room like a storm, rattled the windows and had long since pulled everything out of place in its wake, leaving furniture overturned, sheets and clothes strewn about, and everything else Keith owned thrown here and there. It had been a long time since his apprentice had a tantrum, Keith was actually very good at swallowing down his emotion and projecting a cold exterior, but it had become no less impressive. 

So much unconscious use of the Force, so much destruction without even trying. 

Shiro had known Keith to be stronger in the Force, in potential, than he would ever be at first glance. He’d known Sendak’s desire to leave the boy to starve (Galra didn’t kill children directly, it was considered an unforgivable taboo, but they felt no guilt about leaving them to either thrive or die on their own) for the fear of retribution that it was and, after six months to consider it, he’d seen a path that would let him wield all that potential for himself. 

“Keith,” He said beckoning the boy- young man really- closer. Keith considered him with wary eyes, yellow sclera shot through with red that had begun to creep into the soft purple of the iris, before walking across the room to him. Shiro looked him over, frowning at his bleeding palms, before finally meeting his gaze. “You’re upset with me.” 

Keith scoffed weakly and looked at the ground. “How long have you had another apprentice?” 

“Two years.” He’d noticed an anomaly in certain reports from the agents assigned to Darth Sendak. A sniper, stalled when it came to rising through the ranks, but decorated in spite of all of his commanding officers complaining of his attitude and unwillingness to ‘compromise’ (which was a nice way of saying he wouldn’t spread his legs unless they put a blaster to his head and knocked half of his teeth out.). He was able to make shots that were, frankly, impossible to someone who wasn’t force sensitive. More than that he had a flawless mission record, even on a few outings that were blatant suicide runs. 

Shiro had been intrigued, to say the least of the matter, and his hunch had paid off. 

“You noticed he cloaks himself expertly?” He asked, reaching out with his flesh hand to brush his apprentice’s hair back behind his ear. “He taught himself that. It’s enough to fool anyone who isn’t looking for him; he’s been using it to avoid being picked up as an Initiate and sent to Korriban.” 

Keith’s eyebrow twitched. “Why?” 

“He’s slave stock.” Shiro’s hand drifted down the curve of Keith’s cheek to cup beneath his chin and force him to look up. “Slaves don’t do well at the academy.” It was a minor miracle Lance was doing as well in the military as he was, considering; Korriban would have been even less kind to him. 

Shiro was certain he would have been dead or broken within a year. A waste of potential, truly. 

Keith nodded slowly, long lashes lowered to brush against his cheeks. “No, they don’t.” 

“I’m not replacing you, my apprentice.” Shiro promised. “I would never. You have been at my side for twelve years and I trust no one more in the galaxy. But I need allies, and there are simply some things neither of us can do.” 

“You can do anything, Master.” 

Shiro laughed. Keith’s earnest faith in his ability to conquer the galaxy, if only he felt the need to do so, was flattering and, somehow, humbling all at once. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, letting the barriers he’d put up between them melt. “Will you be kinder to Lance?” 

“No.” Keith said. Shiro grinned, wide and toothy; he’d expected nothing less. 

He’d kept them apart not just because he’d need Lance working for him within the military, and not associated with him, but because he’d needed his new apprentice strong enough to not be crushed by Keith. They would push each other, compete bitterly for his attention and time, the loathing between them would grow, and they would become stronger for it. 

They would need that strength if they were to help him depose Emperor Zarkon. 

“Well, come hear what he has to report at least." Shiro straightened up. "It's important. ...leave your weapons in our room."

Keith's "Yes master" as he began to strip away his many blades was decidedly sullen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is 35 ish, Keith is somewhere between 21 and 25 (no one is sure), and Lance is 21, and five years into his military career.


	2. Just a Little Push

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Implied non-con, socially accepted slavery, specisism, misgendering (a nameless character things Lance is a female Twi'lek) and casual brain washing and, uh, murder. It's fine, they're Sith, casual murder is basically their religion. Misuse of the force, but also we start exploring the force as Lance understands and uses it. But more about that next chapter, where there will some training montages.

Two Standard Years Ago, Ilum 

Lance swallowed, trying to center himself, and stared blankly at the door in front of him. His heart was beating faster than a hawk-bats, thudding against his ribcage like it wanted to run away from his body. He couldn’t blame it, he very much wanted to run away from whatever it was he was walking into as well. It wasn’t everyday his direct supervisor, a hardass of a Chiss who didn’t care one way or another about Lance’s reputation as long as he produced results, pulled him off of the shooting range to go meet a visiting Sith. 

In the private living quarters set aside for the real higher ups, with enough power to not care about some lowly sniper with an eval folder full of complaints and post switches. Lance was known as a problem, unwilling to compromise, disrespectful to command, willful, and a whole lot of other terms that weren’t favorable and kept him from official promotion. He was given new responsibilities often enough, was frequently sent on solo missions, and even allowed to oversee others, but his actual rank hadn’t budged in three years. He even had a few commendations, a medal or two to his credit for exemplary conduct, for all that was worth.

So it was unlikely an actual Sith wanted to speak to him for anything relating to his work. Lance had known it when his CO was giving him the order, he’d been able to read it in the furrowed brow of his CO, and heard it in the snickers of the others in his unit. They were all thinking the same thing: this visiting Sith had seen him at some point, found him attractive, and wanted Lance to warm his bed during his visit. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been singled out for that kind of thing. It came with the territory; outsiders saw Twi’leks and, based on standards that didn’t actually apply to his species, assumed one of two things about them. If they were ‘masculine’ enough then they were criminals and schemers or, if ‘feminine’ and pretty they were good for nothing but sex. Lance, while he’d never grown into the curvaceous figure that so appealed to Humans and Purebloods, was tall and thin and had a face he’d been told was pleasing enough to draw an eye or two. He knew how it could go, his carrier had impressed on him early to be quiet and hide himself, hide the tricks he could do, because they’d been so afraid he’d be sold to a brothel or to become part of someone’s ‘collection’. If he went unnoticed there was always the hope he’d be used for labor, in a mine or field somewhere, which was the best he’d ever thought to hope for. 

Then the Imperial Navy had put out a desperate call for anyone of age to sign up and he’d gone, gladly. He had naively thought that he’d be safe from the attention Twi’leks attracted, that the military was above such things. 

He’d been wrong. 

He’d also, it turned out, been wrong in thinking this latest command would spare him any more of those issues. His CO wasn’t interested in him like that, hadn’t allowed anyone to request him outside of official missions, and Lance hadn’t been approached by anyone but his fellow ensigns since joining the sniper unit. But here he was now, standing outside the room of some Sith Lord’s room, trying to decide how to handle the situation. 

There could be no tricks here, not when he was supposed to be hiding that he was force sensitive, and fighting back was likely to end up with him very very dead, and very forgotten about. Maybe he could talk them out of whatever they wanted him for? There had to be people more appealing, more willing, more fun, than he was, didn’t there? He was-

The door opened without him using the touchpad to announce himself, exposing a sitting room. Lance leaned back warily, eyes darting around the room. It wasn’t a big space, the couch and pair of chairs set around a table taking up almost all of the space, but it was brightly lit, the furniture was sleek metal and thick dark cushions, and the back wall was lined with floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the icy Illum landscape. To one side there was a small kitchenette and to the other a closed door that no doubt led to the bedroom and refresher. 

The room was occupied by a man who was...well, not exactly what he’d expected. All the Sith he’d seen, from a safe distance, were not exactly nice to look at. From what Lance had researched on the Force Sith were often physically affected as they sought power, withering and changing. He’d seen ones who were hunched and emaciated, ones with skin gone deathly ashen or lined with blackened blood vessels, ones with deep shadows under their eyes and mouths and discoloring their eyes and nails. It was never pretty to look at and had made him all the more sure about his choice to stay away from the Sith and only use his ‘tricks’ for small things on occasion. 

Like deflecting blaster bolts that would have otherwise gone through his skull or helping one of his assisnation shots find it’s target no matter the distance. Little helpful tweaks that no one would notice, because the last thing he wanted was someone from the sith academy coming and dragging him to Korriban. He didn’t know a whole lot about the Sith did what they did, but he knew they were ruthless, cruel, and prone murder with little provacation. He knew the academy was pretty lawless, with the only real rule being ‘Don’t get caught’, and while they were allowing slaves these days he knew that was far from a guarantee of anything. He was sure if he ever ended up among them he’d be dead or have a slave collar around his neck in short order. 

The military was safer. 

The man sitting on the couch, peering anxiously at holopages projected before him, was not ugly. A human, probably around Lance’s height but the black tunic he wore was practically painted across a broad chest and shoulders and his soft looking sleep pants were stretched over thick thighs. His hair was long and thick, a curtain of inky black drawn back into a haphazard bun with an odd patch of white hair falling free over his face. He had a handsome face, square jaw lightly stubbled, bronzed skin clear except for a slash of scar tissue across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were-

Amazing. Polished silver pupils surrounded by a thin ring of amber reflected the blue glow of the holograms back at Lance; he’d never seen anything like it. 

“Ensign Lance,” The sith said, flicking a cybernetic hand (It looked to be silver and white armorplast; Lance didn’t even want to think about how much that must have cost) out to move the holopages from in front of him to the side. “Sorry if I startled you, but I’m afraid I don’t have time for you to work yourself up to asking to come in. Sit, please.” 

Lance entered the room, knowing there wasn’t really any other option. He picked one of the chairs to sit in, diagonal to where the Sith was on the couch to maintain as much distance as he could, murmuring a quiet “Yes sir, thank you sir” as he did. He folded his hands into his lap, eyes darting over to the holopages with muted interest but quickly turned from it, not wanting to poke his nose where it wasn’t wanted. 

“Would you like a drink?” The Sith asked, a warm smile on his lips. “Your Captain was kind enough to grant me an Alderaanian wine and you seem like you could use it.” 

Lance was shaking his head before the man was finished speaking. Being drunk probably would have helped but he wasn’t one to let his guard down around others. He’d long since learned his lesson about doing such and was in no hurry to repeat it. The man hummed, head tilting to the side as he looked Lance over from head to toe and back again. His attention was heavy, seeming to brush warmly over Lance’s skin with a physical presence. 

Which, considering the Force, might have been true. 

The hair on his arms raised and his skin prickled; discomfort twisted in his stomach. 

“Sir-” 

“Lord Argenti.” The man said lightly. “But you can call me Shiro.” 

Lance sat up straighter, breath catching. He absolutely would not be doing that, thanks. It was way too familiar and he didn’t want to be familiar with this man at all. “ _ Sir _ . What did you need from me?” 

Lord Argenti chuckled. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Ensign, though I do have an offer of sorts I’d like you to hear.” 

Lance had heard pitches that started that way before. They would swear that they didn’t have any skeevy intentions, but that they had noticed his ‘potential’ and wanted to help him reach him. They promised to ‘take care of him’, to see him advance and succeed, if he would just trust them and give them a few small favors in return. He stared at Lord Argenti, stone faced even as the human’s smile grew. 

“But first I need to know: who taught you to hide yourself in the force?” 

Oh, Lance thought as his mouth dropped open, this is what it felt like to have your life fall apart. 

\---

Dromund Kaas, Present 

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” The human manning the bar leaned forward on his elbows, smiling a little too widely at Lance. Lance smiled back, letting it take on a coy edge and leaning closer. He skimmed the man’s mind, felt lust wrapped around a mean, hard core, and hummed thoughtfully. He saw himself as the man saw him, lean and pretty in his too big uniform, something to be taken apart and then abandoned in the jungle like a broken toy. Newbie Imperial soldiers went missing all the time, maimed by wildlife or falling victim to harsh terrain, or so this guy’s thoughts told him. 

He thought Lance was a female and was thinking eagerly on what it would be like to hold him down and get inside of him. Typical. 

Humans had become very boring and predictable to him in the last two years. 

“Fungi loaf, two orders of stew, bantha steak, Galra raw (He considered, briefly, getting it well done but the thought of Shiro’s disappointed face kept him from so.), and the fried tubers and roots. And Corealian tea. And a whole berry pie. And frozen blue milk.” 

The man tapped on holo-display as he spoke and, once a price was totaled, accepted Lance’s borrowed credit chip. It was handed back shortly, the bartender’s fingers lingering against his what was no doubt meant to be flirtatiously. 

“Can I get you a drink? On the house, of course. We’ve got a good homebrew on tap. I make it, personally.” 

A homebrew he’d probably drug if Lance accepted. He leaned further over the counter, fingers drifting over the back of the man’s hand, and reached out into his thoughts to steal away his attraction to Lance with a quier “I’m no one. You’re going to forget me as soon I’m gone.”. Then, still stewing in his anger over how Shiro’s other apprentice had spoken to him, added a little compulsion to drive off the nearest high cliff when he was done at work. “You want to. You need to, for the rush.” He added, smiling warmly. 

“Yeah.” The bartender agreed. “A drive.” 

When he pulled his hand back the bartender blinked away the haze that had fallen over his eyes and, with a slightly confused wrinkle of his nose, wandered away to tend to his other customers. Lance watched him go, laughing under his breath. It helped to use his anger for something. Made it easier to breathe, to push the embarrassment and sharp rage into action. Shiro said the Dark Side of the Force thrived on emotion of all kinds. While those who used the lightside released their emotion into the force, losing out on all that potential power, they were meant to turn it within, harness it, control it, and then make it work for them. 

Never deny emotion, Shiro’s voice echoed in his mind, never seek calm or peace. 

Keith seemed to have the ‘no calm’ thing down perfectly. Or maybe he was just the typical Galra douchebag. Galra, Humans, and Purebloods were at the top of the Empire’s heap, and they often acted like it. Galra, especially, liked to swagger around like puffed up assholes with the right to crush everyone else beneath their heel, bolstered by a long line of Galra Emperor’s and their high ranks among the Sith, in the military, and a large number of nobles claiming Galra blood. 

Yeah, the guy was probably just an asshole. 

Whatever, it wasn’t his business. Shiro was going to work it out however he saw fit. 

Lance saw Shiro sending him down into the Cantina proper for food for the temporary dismissal that it was. He didn’t mind it, having little interest in watching his ‘Master’ argue with his spoiled apprentice if he could avoid it. That plus being handed a credit chip and being told to get whatever he wanted went a long way to soothing some of the sting of his fellow apprentice’s words. 

He’d been working for Lord Argenti for two very interesting years. He’d seen and done a lot, found himself moving from bottom tier ensign to lieutenant, sent on infiltration and extraction missions, trusted with crucial assassinations, and often permitted to venture out on his own to accomplish his tasks however he saw fit. He answered, officially, directly to Darth Sendak. He’d never actually met the Darth, of course, but it was the image that mattered. 

The image and the freedom to come and go as he pleased for the most part, aided by a starship that had come with his new status and a generous new salary. 

Training under Lord Argenti in the force was just an extra bonus on top of everything else. 

They didn’t meet in person often, Argenti kept him at a distance so they couldn’t be connected to each other, but they spoke via holo often enough. Especially when he was working to maintain Argenti’s spy network, deep and intricate as it was. 

Lance had been all over the galaxy, doing off board missions alongside his mandated assignments. Take out a Republic general and, also, pass instructions to a turncoat trooper who was happy to sell out his people to Argenti for enough credits. Sneak into a senator’s apartment and plant listening devices then see to it that all information was directed to Lord Argenti first and anything his master didn’t want known by others was edited out. Making inroads in Hutts and other criminals while stomping out resistance cells in the name of the Empire. 

Then, when there was time and he wasn’t too exhausted, pushing himself to learn how to manipulate the force for more than just nudging blaster bolts, learning to center himself in the Living Force with meditation, how to find others, touch minds, and better cloak himself. He learned lightsaber forms, sometimes under Argenti’s cold holoprojected gaze, sometimes to the sound of recordings of the man, and a handful of times in person, where Shiro could put hand on him to straighten him out, push his legs into better position, murmur rare praise into his ear. 

Those times were...troublesome. 

He had heard a fair amount about Argenti’s other apprentice over the years. His master spoke highly of the other, reminding him constantly of how far along Keith was in his training, how gifted he was, how strong and focused and *deadly* and unmatched he was among his peers at the academy. For two years Argenti had been pushing Lance to be better, to learn faster, to catch up his precious apprentice. Keith Lia was a taunting spector in Lance’s mind, a mountain that he needed to surmount, the one thing between him and Lord Argenti’s favor. 

Favor that, in spite of knowing better, Lance found he desperately wanted. There was just something about the feeling of Lord Argenti’s eyes, mercury and gold, on him that left him craving just a second more when it was taken from him. 

Keith didn’t know how lucky he was to have the man’s constant attention and that temper tantrum he’d thrown had proved it. To think he’d basically accused their master of fucking Lance, as if Lance was good enough for him (a fucking Sith who, he’d gradually learned, was considered a very big deal) or Argenti had ever spared him even a hint of attention in that direction. It was pretty clear to Lance that the man’s only interest in him was as a student and asset. 

If Keith actually knew anything about Shiro he wouldn’t doubt that. 

“Here you go kid.” The bartender grunted, dropping a bag of containers in front of him. He looked completely disinterested in Lance, not looking at him fully or waiting for him to take his order before walking away. 

Lance all but bounced back to the room, pleased with his use of the force. Getting into people’s heads came easy to him, for all the Argenti said it was supposed to be hard. He found it often didn’t take more than a little brush of his power for weak points to exploit. It was a lot like shooting, actually; in moments where things were most tense the whole world changed, opened up and slowed down, and he just knew where to aim his blaster bolt and when to fire. 

There were plenty of other things he needed a lot of work on, and he supposed he’d get the chance now that he was to be working directly with Lord Argenti all the time, but he was confident in that area. 

He wasn’t surprised to find his master and the other apprentice back in the common room, lit by the eerie blue glow of portable emergency lights and flickering candles. The glass from the lights Keith had blown out was cleaned up and both men sat at the kitchen counter, servingware and a pitcher already laid out before them. 

“Thank you.” Shiro said, taking the bag from him. “You can fill us in while we eat, then I’ll let you know what our next move should be.” 

Lance took the seat on Shiro’s otherwise, ignoring the dark looks Keith was shooting at him and, once he had his stew uncovered and his bread torn from the loaf, began speaking. 

“It’s actually worse that I thought it was last time we spoke. Your resistance General Iverson is nearly compromised. The resistance got their hands on his son, for conduct unbefitting, and he’s threatening to spill everything he knows if his father doesn’t get him out. I don’t know if he actually knows anything, but Iverson is concerned enough that he’s calling in favors and it’s making people pay attention to him. Rolo and Nyma, on Nar Shadda, have been denied two Republic contracts in a row, and one with the Hutts, so it looks like they’ve been found out as well.” 

Which was annoying but hardly the end of the world. Iverson was Balmorra Resistance who’d turned for Argenti, via Lance, for the promise of power, and Rolo and Nyma, while fun, were disposable assets. The real problem was how had someone dig into Shiro’s network, and how could Lance stop them from getting in deeper and doing real damage. He didn’t have the answers to that yet and, judging by the frown on his master’s face, Shiro knew it. 

He shifted on his seat, uncomfortable with what was an obvious failure on his part. “Lord Argenti, I-”

“What of my artifacts?” The human interrupted, brows furrowed. 

Lance blinked then, eager to share good news, nodded. “I was able to cross reference some of the sigils you copied with records from the  Coruscant temple library-”

“You have access to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant?” Keith, looking up from his bloody steak for the first time, looked at Lance like he’d grown a second head. “Bullshit.”

Lance looked askance at Shiro, unsure if he should explain that he had access because of their master and an encrypted data chip the man had given Lance. All he’d had to do was get into Republic space, access their holonet, and plug in the chip and he’d been given basic access to the Jedi temple data archives. 

Shiro sighed. “Continue.” 

“Ah. Right. Well, I think it’s part of a set of four. I had Rolo poking around the Black Market and he thinks he’s tracked down two of them, but he doesn’t want to give the information up unless it’s to you, in person.” 

Shiro nodded, the picture of serene acceptance. He was taking the news better than Lance had; he’d spat a lot of words his carrier would not have been pleased to hear come out of his mouth, made a few threats, and then finally relented because Rolo wouldn't back down. Lance couldn’t make him do anything over holo so he’d been forced to suck it up and grudgingly agree to bring it up with his master. 

Keith scoffed. “So what do you do, besides being unable to handle anything yourself?” 

“I don’t throw tantrums and yell at Shiro, for starters.” 

“You-Shiro? You can’t call him Shiro!” Keith hissed; a black wave of power rolled over Lance and, for a moment, he felt claws in his mind, pulling at the barriers Shiro had taught him to build to keep people out, trying to drag them loose. He couldn’t move, muscles locking and pain sparking on every nerve, couldn’t act as bit by bit his mental walls were shredded. 

Shiro turned slightly, looked at Lance with bright eyes, and Lance...jerked back, physically and mentally, pulled the pain in and then slammed it up to make his barriers stronger. 

Keith’s eyes widened slightly, surprise a fleeting shadow on his face. Lance put a hand to his temple, willing the pulse of pain trying to seattle behind his eyes to recede. “Stay out of my head.” 

“We’ll be leaving for Balmorra tomorrow.” Shiro announced, cutting off whatever Keith was about to say. The Galra shut his mouth with an audible click, frowning unhappily as Shiro pressed on. “We’ll have to...handle Iverson, and his son. Then Nar Shadda, to get the information Rolo has and, if he’s no longer useful, we’ll take care of him and his partner as well. Lance,” Shiro’s hand was on his shoulder all of a sudden, squeezing lightly. “You’ve done well.” 

Lance’s face warmed and his throat tightened; it was impossible to get any words out so he nodded instead, eyes falling to the floor. 

“I have something for you, tomorrow.” Another squeeze and then Shiro was standing, taking his bowl of stew in hand. “I’m going to my room, to meditate. There’s enough room out here for both of you; I suggest you rest soon, and refrain from damaging each other.”

Keith glared at Lance. 

Lance glared back. 

Shiro hummed noncommittally as he walked away from them. He vanished into the bedroom without another word, only the chime to announce the lock being engaged filling the silence.    
Keith stayed where he was for only a few beats longer before grabbing his food and storming over to a far corner of the room. Lance rolled his eyes and grabbed a spoon to begin shoveling food into his mouth. 

No sense letting some jerk put him off of dinner. 

Especially when he intended to surpass that jerk, sooner rather than later. He didn’t see anything special about Keith so far, just another Galra who thought he could do whatever he wanted because of his species and a little bit of force ability, and there wasn’t anything impressive about that. He was probably a noble, the exact kind of person that tore into the former slaves at the academy for fun or threw their weight around in the military because they knew no one would stop them. 

The kind of guys Lance hated the most.

The kind of guys he wanted to crush so badly he’d agreed to become Lord Argenti’s apprentice in order to gain power, and status. It didn’t hurt that Shiro had promptly found and freed Lance’s carrier and siblings, expressing a disdain for slavery in that very first meeting, but as nice as that was freeing on family didn’t change anything, not like wiping slave traders and buyers would. That was what Lance would do, once he was able, and until then he’d follow Shiro wherever he led and take in everything he had to teach. 

He wouldn’t let anything stop him, least of all a bratty, spoiled guy like Keith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: Twi'lek are, in the AU, a monosexed species. There are varying body types and, as such, other species project binary genders onto them for the purpose of things like attraction and obectification, but within Twi'lek communities they don't get down like that. Lance is male identifying here, because his carrier raised him to answer to male identifiers to protect him, but reserves the right to change his mind whenever he wants. 
> 
> Galra, meanwhile, are a selective sexed species meaning they change their reproductive bits as suits them (Offically they identify four states that can be moved between: Those who can 'receive', those who can 'give', those who opt for both, and those who do neither. Keith is currently in a 'Neither' state.) They're also genetic blank slates, which allows them to mate with any Humanoid species, and is why there is such a crazy range of features and appearances. 
> 
> Shiro is a human, and thus boring. Sorry Shiro.


End file.
